The Road to Hell
by bowlfullofcherries
Summary: A strong psychic is a powerful tool in dealings with heaven and hell and Gabriel is looking for a way back into heaven. Too bad the newly made human chose the wrong psychic; she's got a friend who's not too happy with the ex-angel's pick. Angeltine
1. B&E the First

disclaimer: not mine. except for the stuff that came outta my head. that's mine.

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><p><em>Salt Sea, Jordan<em>

Underneath the Dead Sea It stirred. Something menacing. Something real. It pulsed once. Twice- beckoning.

Slowly and far away fragmented flesh and bone moved. Dragging themselves over continents, past concrete and glass, through sand and stone.

Coalescing.

In Its dwelling beneath the sea floor It shivered in predatory anticipation. The convergence would take time but it was done; His servant had signed the contract.

Balthazar was coming to Him.

* * *

><p><em>six months later<em>

It was the squeaking that woke him.

SQUEE-eak

SQUEE-eak

SQUEE-eak

John Constantine slowly came to awareness knowing the interloper to be benign. Or at least non-threatening. He didn't bother opening his eyes.

Damn. The crick in his neck had been instant and deep. He'd been so drained lately he often woke to find himself in the most unlikely, and uncomfortable, places. The continuous march of long days that lasted well into the nights and sometimes well into the next was taking a toll.

His last case in particular had been incredibly brutal; he deemed it an accomplishment that he'd managed to get out of the blood-stained garments he'd been forced to live in two days straight before crashing. Was it his paranoia or had the number of demonic attacks in the last few months quadrupled?

John gave a small grunt. He doubted it was paranoia.

He'd still been too exhausted to be aware of a case of breaking and entering in his own home. Even if the intruder was familiar as this one.

"What are you doing in my bathroom?" he rasped and grimaced at the sound.

SQUEE-eak

SQUEE-eak

SQUEE- Constantine's hand shot out and grabbed the offending toy from the Halfling. He threw it across the room where it landed with a small 'squeak!'

"You look like hell."

Eyes finally opened he stared up into Chas's amused face. The Halfling was grinning down at him and the rubber duck was back in his hand.

"You look… not like an angel."

The other's grin turned cheesy. "They're retractable!"

Constantine snorted and rolled his eyes. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?"

There might have been a flash of something in Chas's eyes but it was gone too fast to interpret. "Drawing lines in the sand now, John?" he murmured. He gave the duck another squeeze, half-heartedly this time.

Squee-eak

He stood from his perch on the edge of the tub and began looking around the large washroom as Constantine observed him. Chas hadn't really changed much since his death. Still that restless energy, still such an air of _youthfulness_ about him. Just looking at the half-angel made the psychic feel the weariness in his bones sink all the way to his soul.

"Nice place you got here. You're almost in the suburbs, John. I'm shocked."

He rose from the bath, not bothering to cover up. Chas had seen him in all forms of disarray. Bloody, bruised, broken- nudity was nothing and nothing new.

He'd bought the creaking old house not too long after his apprentice's death. He hadn't intended to live in it. But he was here now and had bought it at twice the asking price because something about it had called to him. He'd felt… well, he wasn't too interested in examining his feelings then anytime soon.

"It was a good investment." He finally said when the silence had stretched too long. It was the excuse he'd given himself at the time, too. Chas looked at him sideways but let it go.

"I'm sure there's plenty of interest in the area. Have you checked any of it out?"

The question sounded innocent but Constantine was instantly wary. "If you recall, my historian friend recently passed."

Chas didn't rise to the bait, "I hear the twins are in Ecuador these days."

"Yeah, well, bully for them."

Chas huffed a laugh. "Geez, John. Talking to you is like pulling teeth." He was quiet for a moment and his demeanor changed. The psychic tensed further, waiting- knowing he wasn't going to like what came next.

"Angela Dodson's gonna visit you soon."

Constantine let out the ragged breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "And why would she do that?"

"Take care of yourself, John," the Halfling admonished and was gone.

"Well, shit."

* * *

><p>AN: How is it?


	2. Walk on the Wild Side

"A naked dwarf carrying an overweight opera singer."

The bouncer moved aside and Angela Dodson walked into Papa Midnite's Place. A wave of heat hit her and music pulsed in her ears, making her skin throb. The club was packed.

Loud whispers met her as she waded through the congested dance floor. "Blessed Twin," they breathed in awe, "False Mother," they jeered in derision. She scoffed inwardly. As if she'd had control over any of that. Deftly ignoring them, she reached the back room.

Behind a huge desk covered in an assortment of ancient looking artifacts and neatly stacked papers sat Papa Midnite. Amused, she looked him over, fleetingly wondering where he'd gotten the eye-catching outfit of forest green leather and creamy linen. But all thoughts of amusement deserted her when her examination reached his eyes. There was nothing vague or flighty in his gaze. A big man and ageless, he sprawled in his seat, imposing and almost regal in his bearing, watching her with a hawk's precision. Unnerved, she waited.

When he spoke, his voice was smooth and mellow. "I have heard a great deal about you Ms. Dodson, though I never expected we'd meet." His eyes said otherwise. If a body needed information on spiritual matters, Papa Midnite probably had the answer. Whether or not he gave it was another story.

She'd found him by way of a satisfied customer. Happy with his lost pet's recovery and feeling chatty, he'd mentioned a joint where the weary PI could cut loose. "Midnite's Place is neutral ground. But don't cross him. He's a panther in his tree, watching and waiting." His pet spat acid and he absently scratched under its chin. "Don't mess with him unless you have good intentions. No. Even then, don't mess with him."

A club where both sides congregated? She'd had no intention of ever willingly going. She suppressed a sigh. Well. The best laid plans, and all that.

"It is all well and good," he intoned before she could explain her presence, "to worry about the fate of others. But without proper training you leave yourself vulnerable. Especially now that you've succeeded in isolating yourself even further."

Annoyed, she pressed her lips into a thin line. He seemed to know as much as they said he did. It was true- she was here for someone else. It was also true that she'd quit the Force. For a while she'd stayed on, called up John when something came along she couldn't handle on her own. That had been the extent of her contact with him. A possessed body, grunts of acknowledgment from cynical peers, a hint of that smug expression, then 'See you around, Angela" in that mocking tone sure to set Weiss off, and he was gone again.

Yeah. See you.

But that got old fast. And the number of dead and dying in her mind's eye and direct line of sight grew daily. One too many sideways glances from her partner, a stern reprimand from her boss- hell. She'd've been out of a job soon anyway. She'd had to call it quits. For the past two months she'd done PI work along with the exorcisms.

Not that he knew. She wondered how pissed he'd be when he found out. And he would- she'd already made something of a name for herself; the almost mother of the devil's son, a powerful psychic- whether she used her gift or not- wouldn't go unnoticed. Well, he'd find out tonight if he didn't know already.

She'd woken up this morning with the violent urge to warn John Constantine.

Midnite's voice sliced through her musings. "The life of a true psychic is often lived in solitude." He puffed on something distinctly sweet and herbal, staring at her all the while. She swallowed, wondering why she suddenly felt like a schoolgirl under the Headmaster's strict gaze.

Resentful, she replied, "It's better that way."

"Of course it isn't." His expression never wavered. Her stare turned recalcitrant and she refused to answer. He took in another long drag of his pipe. When he didn't speak again she turned to go. Before she could reach the door his voice came, "You'll find John five minutes out East of St. Broadway. His place is a quarter mile down."

She hesitated before giving a short nod and continued out into the club's main room. She ignored the looks and slurs, plowing her way through the writhing mass. Momentarily caught between two undulating bodies, a hand caressed her thigh and trailed lightly up her arm. Then came a sultry whisper so close it sent a shiver up her spine.

"Well, if it isn't Constantine's little slut."


	3. Home Sweet Home

The hand made its way up her arm, brushing alongside a breast then tangling in her hair, the other guiding at her hip, forcing their bodies to gyrate to the beat.

Angela perceived vague impressions: wisps of dark, fragrant softness against her cheek, milky white skin glowing in the dimness of club lights, and that voice in her ear, low and seductive. "You want him." Something grazed the psychic's throat. "I can taste it on you." Sinful lips formed into a mocking pout and moved closer as their bodies rocked. "He won't touch you." Her gaze clashed with her captor's. Black eyes bright and cruel stared back and the tidal wave of lust she experienced then was primal and not her own.

Her shields were a metal door slamming closed in the face of the deluge; like hell she'd be manipulated any further than this. The other smirked, and the hand in her hair descended, trailing down her torso to grip her hips with both hands, bringing them flush against her own.

"If he touches _you_," the temptress purred, "you'll be dirtied. Me- I'm dirty as they come." Angela gasped and her anger burned deep in her belly as she finally succeeded in wrenching herself away. Mocking laughter followed her exit from the club. "Run, little psychic."

She breathed in the night air, heart pounding. From the dark a shadow lurched towards her. "REPENT! The day of RECKONING is near!" The overwhelming odor of alcohol mixed with the stench of unwashed body and Angela drew back but surprisingly strong hands clutched at her arms. "HELL! YOU'LL BURN IN HELL!" She _shoved_ and the zealot stumbled. She quickly entered her car and turned the ignition.

'He'd better appreciate this,' she thought grimly.

* * *

><p>Angela touched the deep grooves etched into the doorway of the old house and felt calm wash over her. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and entered.<p>

"Are B&E's the hallmark for cops and Halflings now?" He leaned against a small table situated directly across from the entryway, arms crossed and watching her. Her calm broke. She'd been on the wrong end of intimidation one too many times for one night.

"You don't exactly look surprised to see me."

"A little birdie told me you'd be dropping by."

She moved out of the doorway towards the kitchen, reached into a cabinet and took out instant coffee and a pot. He followed, taking in the sight of her in his home. There were more shadows in her eyes than last he remembered and her mouth was turned down in what looked to be a perpetual frown. Her auburn hair was upswept in a tight knot, revealing the pale skin of her neck.

"Why are you here, Angela?" he asked gruffly.

Her movements slowed. "… something's coming. I don't know what. All I know," she met his eye, "is that you're in danger."

He didn't need to say it- she could read the condescension in his gaze.

"Well... that's... something. Thanks for the warning."

She turned away, grabbing a coffee cup from another cabinet before slamming it onto the counter. "Don't pull that with me, John, okay? I saw it. I saw-" she swallowed, began again. "You died. It was- it was... John." Her words were more breath than substance now. "John, don't- don't ignore this."

He eyed her consideringly, noting the sharp breathing, the pained expression.

"Here."

He held up an old, thin volume his crossed arms had previously hidden. As he turned to exit the kitchen she surreptitiously wiped her eyes, grabbing her steaming mug as she followed. He settled on the couch and waited for her to do the same.

"Halflings don't go around randomly visiting humans. It's illegal. So I checked up on some of the things he said. And found this."

She turned the slender book over in her hands, flipping through its pages.

"Can't read it with Beeman gone. But, look." He stopped her movement, pointing to a scribbled citation.

"Concentrated balance," she mused aloud.

"Basically the creation of perfect parallels in heaven and hell."

"Parallels?"

"Yeah. I know the gist of it. Midas, Joseph, and Lucas all tried it with varying results."

"Lucas?"

"How else do you build a billion dollar franchise off a low budget sci-fi flick?"

Her brow furrowed. "What does the parallel consist of?"

"Hell if I know."

"You're saying that power generated from a concentrated balance would grant the conductor-"

"A perfect wish, yeah."

* * *

><p>AN: That was not a tongue flicking Angela's throat.


	4. Charged Moments

If passersby had cared to, they'd've noted the glazed eyes, the near-gone expression. And they might've heard the mumbling.

"Wicked... to be... sacrificed." The beggar rose, swaying. A voice in his ear urged him forward, murmuring with sweet whispers the promise of everything he wanted. Everything he needed.

"God... pleased... sinner... must die."

But no one paid any heed and the poor man staggered after the direction of the car, guided by that same tantalizing voice, the willing Hand of God.

* * *

><p>Angela sat on the couch, coffee cradled in both hands, mulling over what she'd learned. If a concentrated balance was made of dual events in heaven and hell, what did that have to do with John? What bearing did that hold on her vision?<p>

Constantine watched her for a moment but looked away quickly. He frowned to find his hands shaking and stood, widening the space between them, his back to her.

"What did you see?" he asked.

She carefully set her coffee on the table and licked dry lips. "I know _you_ didn't decorate, John. Why is this place so inviting?"

He sent her a mocking look over his shoulder.

"There was light," she began abruptly, "and then shadow. You were falling and I heard cruel laughter." She reached up and unbound her hair, sifting shaky fingers through the tangles. "It was very real." He didn't say anything, just continued watching her over his shoulder.

"Take this." She held out the hair tie. It was a metallic rope that writhed and twisted in her palm. Attached to it was the pendant he'd given her.

"And where'd you get Celtic gold?"

"Payment for services rendered."

He turned to face her fully. "Do tell."

The tension in the room rose several notches.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes. The way I see it, you can have it one of two ways. I exorcise with you- under you- until you feel I'm competent. Or I go it alone. As I have been. You choose."

He reached towards the pendant but grabbed her wrist instead, jerking her to her feet and she stumbled as he stalked her until she was backed against the front door. The punishing grip on her arm became a caress, his thumb rubbing the pulse there, his fingers gliding upwards, stroking. He grasped the pendant.

He reached up, scraping long fingers through auburn strands, the action earning him a gasp. He studied her face, so close to his, and reached up with his free hand. She tensed further but he only grasped the remaining tresses, raking them back to entwine with the rest, winding the writhing gold into its soft thickness.

Then his voice low in her ear, "You keep it."

His arms dropped and Angela turned, yanking the knob, ready to _leave-_ and froze.

"Angela, what...?" She didn't respond but he looked from her face to the yard and breathed a curse. A form, silent and still, waited in the murky dark. "Are you lost?" John's voice carried subtle menace. Contrary to Midnite's claim, there was no road five minutes East of St. Broadway. More like a narrow pathway. Visitors were rare. None were ever coincidental.

"Hello, John." The effected tone was more than familiar. Hair tangled and matted; eyes sunken in with large dark smudges underneath; clothing that might have been white at one time, now a muddy grey, torn and threadbare.

Constantine squinted, pronouncing with dreaded certainty a single name.

"...Gabriel?"

"I have business with the False Mother. It concerns the sister."

Angela started forward but a hand on her arm jerked her back. She glared at him. "He can't hurt me. I've the pendant." And she pulled away, ignoring John's lowly growled, "An~gela," approaching the ex-Halfling slowly.

"What about my sister?" Her voice was steel.

Gabriel stared dispassionately at her for a long moment in which the night stood still. This close, Angela caught more: the feverish glint to his eyes, the lurking madness. The stench of stale alcohol, the odor of unwashed body...

She drew breath to scream a warning-

What happened next was too quick to see. One moment Angela stood upright, the next she was hung limply over Gabriel's shoulder.

"Tsk, tsk. Should have been more wary," he smiled wide and mean, teeth gleaming. "I'm not possessed, you see," and they melted into the gloom of the forest just as the rushing sound of wings and the harsh, guttural chatter of hellspeak rent the night air.

"You gotta be kiddin' me." He raced back into the house, grabbing the item he kept onhand for just such occasions.

"All right, you sons of bitches. Let's play."


	5. Angelic Encounters

Part 5

_"Welcome and thank you for flying Angel Air where we are committed to giving you a heavenly experience. Our flight time today…"_

Constantine tuned out the attendant's professional drone, staring out the window from his seat in first class.

"You sure travel in style, John."

He couldn't even feign surprise. "She'd better be in Ecuador, Chas. I swear."

"You swear? To me? Don't do that, John." The Halfling munched complacently on a pack of salted nuts, sprawled easily in his seat, one leg hanging idly in the aisle. A flight attendant stopped as she passed, staring him down until he removed it. Chas winked at her and whistled. "Too bad she likes 'em bad." She must have heard because she turned, eyes glowing, to glare at him.

Constantine leaned in, the lines of his body taut with tension. "Why'd Gabriel take Angela? She'd come to warn _me_."

"She was warning you of trouble ahead. You'd've been involved anyway. This path was the least threatening for yourself."

"And the most threatening for her."

"Don't kid yourself. Angela Dodson has a big fat bulls-eye on her chest. You're her best bet."

Constantine grimaced but remained silent.

_"We will now begin our initial descent. Please take this time to ensure that all of your belongings…"_

Constantine stared. Chas smirked.

"Did you know that John was His most beloved disciple?" Constantine searched his ex-pupil's gaze until Chas looked away, a faint grin playing on his lips. "Say hello to the twins for me."

He was gone. Constantine punched a dent in the wall of the plane.

* * *

><p>He found Uriel in a cantina on the outskirts of Riobamba conning grown men out of their drinking money.<p>

"Uri, a word."

A slight girl on the cusp of womanhood grunted and stood, collecting her winnings while addressing her audience in rapid Spanish. The men grumbled discontentedly but slowly dispersed. _"Bienvenido_, Constantine." Belligerent eyes, large in a thin face, belied the warmth of the greeting. John didn't care.

"Tell me about Gabriel, Uriel," he moved in, pushing tables and chairs out of his path, "tell me about concentrated balance. And tell me now."

Uriel's scowl turned into an outright snarl "Why should I tell you anything, _psychic_?"

The word was dirty from her lips. John smirked and in a flash held her roughly by the front of her t-shirt. Pale eyes glowed in holy wrath but John had never been one to cow easily. His grip tightened. Then he felt a pressure at the base of his neck and froze.

"Hello, Mr. Constantine. Please, be so kind as to put my sister down."

He did, slowly backing away, eyeing the newcomer warily. "Phan. You look good."

The elderly woman smiled faintly. "Better than you, John. You're positively gaunt." She motioned elegantly towards a seat and took her own. John sat, making no sudden moves; this Halfling's eyes were glowing as well. He belatedly noted that the cantina had emptied. He heard a rasping _snick_ followed by a soft _hiss_ and his eyes flicked to Uriel.

She'd lit a cheroot and was staring narrow-eyed at him. She plunked down gracelessly beside her sister, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Now. Why should we give a rat's ass in hell about a psychic's problems."

"Maybe because it's your job, _Guardian_," he taunted. He held out the book. "And because the son of a bitch is attempting concentrated balance." Phan took the book and reached absently into her blouse pocket, retrieving and perching upon her rather aquiline nose a pair of delicate wire-rimmed spectacles.

The walls around them heaved and shivered, fading from the drab brown of mud to the cool cream of stucco. The benches became row upon row of shelves lined with books and scrolls, the bar became a pulpit and the dingy windows transformed into stained glass.

Uriel whistled as she peered at the small tome. "That's some house you've found, psychic."

Constantine spoke through gritted teeth. "Listen. I'm tired of this being led around by the nose _bullshit. _And I'm outta time. Tell me what you know. About the house. About Angela. About Gabriel."

The sisters exchanged grave looks. The younger spoke. "Balthazar is on the move." John abruptly rose from his chair but Uriel continued. "He was summoned to the River Jordan. Chas informed us but your presence confirms it. Balthazar would never have had the strength on his own. He's working for someone."

Phanuel delicately cleared her throat. "Mr. Constantine, what do you know about Beliar?"

His brow furrowed. "What? The Anti-Christ?"

* * *

><p>High up on a mountain, Angela Dodson woke with a silent scream in her throat.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: This was _supposed_ to be a simple exercise to get my head in gear for my 'real' stories. ha ha ha.


	6. Our Climactic Conclusion Part 1

The sisters watched Constantine disappear in silence.

"The price you set was too high."

"So what. I hate him."

"Hate festers."

She received no reply.

* * *

><p>A flash of soundless light found Constantine five hundred yards from the summit of Mt. Chimborazo. The point closest to God.<p>

Constantine brushed the thought aside, filling his lungs with mountain air as he focused on his current situation; a thick miasma of insects- fat shiny flying_-_ surrounded his goal. Its discordant humming grew in intensity and its somewhat sluggish swarming became an agitated frenzy in response to his presence.

He had a scarcity of weapons. There were thousands of them. John reached into his coat pocket and took out a stick of gum, chewing as he took stock. There was no time- he had to get to Angela. Now.

* * *

><p><em>"The six month deadline from Old Fuss Face's rise ends in one hour." Uriel appeared almost pleased as she taunted him. "You really think cheap tricks will win the day?" <em>

_"Better watch that, Uri. God don't like ugly." __The air in the room snapped and sizzled as Constantine continued,__ "I'll need fast transport. The fastest."_

_Uriel's features smoothed over.__ Spreading her wings, she reached behind and, with a shrill shriek that shook the walls, yanked, handing him a small grey feather. _

_"T__here is a cost."_

_"Fuck I care." There was a small _crack!_ and he was gone in a silent swirl of wind and light. _

* * *

><p>Without further thought, Constantine extracted a decanter from his trench coat. He tipped it, dousing his entire body, and ran into the cloud. The creatures screeched as they came in contact with the holy water but the mindless horde attacked relentlessly. He felt multiple stinging sensations as cuts appeared along his cheeks, arms and legs. He bore his way through, kicking and punching, until suddenly he found a small opening in the writhing wall.<p>

At the center of this cleansed hollow lay the pendant, unobtrusive and small. His fingers gripped the dull gold band and immediately the swarm pulled back. He ran on, crashing into the clearing just in time to see Gabriel land a hard right to the side of Angela's head. Gabriel looked up and smiled.

"You're just in time," the ex-angel exclaimed pleasantly as he loosened his grip. Angela's body fell heavily to the hard ground.

John stared fixedly at his opponent. "Gabriel. You're looking well. Losing divine privilege must not have been too bad."

Instantly Gabriel's polite veneer disintegrated. Though all traces of filth had been removed, the ex-angel was rail thin and wild-eyed. He practically reeked of hard-living. "Do you have any idea what I've been through these past months?" he hissed.

"Why, Gabriel," Constantine replied with exaggerated sympathy, reaching into another pocket and withdrawing his Crossgun, "humanity not the bed of roses you thought it'd be?"

"I was institutionalized! Me!" Gabriel was raving, his agitation palpable. "The authorities came to that _travesty_ of an asylum," he spat, "and took words of salvation and enlightenment for the gibbering prattle of a madman!" Spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe they couldn't take the bullshit." Constantine calmly raised the weapon, sighting his target steadily. But Gabriel had seemingly lost interest in John's doings. An eerie calm had replaced the craze and he wiped at his chin. Constantine tensed as the fair-headed man turned to Angela.

"But now... that's all going to disappear."

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_For a human to leave hell then to__ obtain__ heaven is beyond rare. This process is called Ascension. When a psychic Ascends and a psychic of equal measure does the same but in reverse, concentrated balance is formed. The process is not as simple as this suggests. Reverse Reciprocation is an extremely delicate process. __B__ut psychic twins-.__" Phanuel stared John grimly in the eye. _

_"__T__win p__sychics are equal in all ways.__"_

* * *

><p>"No!" he whispered desperately. But even as he fired, the other man spoke words that twisted and rumbled on the air. The air surrounding Gabriel and Angela condensed, slowing the small piece of lead to a slug's pace. The shot never landed. Constantine watched the bullet with an intense expression, willing it to work.<p>

_Please... Please..._

A small silver dart came out of the bullet's tip, slicing through the solidifying air to find its mark. A small red dot appeared on Gabriel's chest and spread rapidly. Even as blood dribbled from his lips, the ex-angel smiled.

"You're too late. My wish will be granted. It has begun."

Constantine didn't need the words; he could feel it. Angela was gone.

* * *

><p>AN: This relatively fast update is dedicated to **LeochickX** as an apology because I said I'd post and didn't. I've added a small humorous bit to chapter five as a thank you to **claire3loves3music** for reviewing as many times as she did. **Semjaza**, I've got something in the works for you as well. Thanks for telling me your thoughts every chapter.

One more update to go! I hope everyone enjoys the ending. Thanks for sticking with me, all you lovely, lovely readers.


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